


But Loving You Was Red

by daddylouissquad



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddylouissquad/pseuds/daddylouissquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the one where Harry loses the love of his life in a fire and has to explain to everyone why he can only feel in color</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Loving You Was Red

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic I've ever been confident to post, so be nice please! Constructive criticism is welcome of course, just nothing mean. 
> 
> If you have anything you want to say/ ask.. my blog is www.harryspendeja.tumblr.com please feel free to message me!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It was all red and orange and angry and the colors they shared didn't help to keep the rest from melting together.

"Harry, stop!" Louis yelled, but it was useless. Harry was already a fiery inferno of rage, seemingly gliding from place to place, destroying. The light blues and greens were gone, and so were the pale pinks and ivories, it was all a mess of dungeon black and blood red, and the color of the sun when it's trying to set behind the hills too fast. Too much power.

"LOU!" Harry screamed and the building collapsed on top of them. Louis combined with the orange and red, they were one, a symbiotic relationship he couldn't quite put words to. They trusted each other. The red whispered lullabies and the orange stroked Louis' hair and wiped the soot from his face.

"It'll be okay, darling," the darkness cooed and Louis nodded, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in the burnt fabric. Harry was still screaming and Louis could hear the pain in his voice, he could hear the anger and the resentment and something else, maybe he was disappointed Louis was giving up so easily... but the colors were so playful and nice, and they were rocking Louis to sleep in the same way the blues and greens used to, just like the ocean waves.

Maybe the reds and orange weren't so bad after all, maybe it was only Louis' perception of them which was warped?

"Harry, it's okay," Louis muttered, too sleepy to even bat an eyelid at the sobbing boy. He was sure he could feel Harry's tears, little drips raining down on his face. He was sure Harry's words were echoing through him, helping the red to slide into every blood vessel and vein. Harry was trying to get to the white of his bones but it just wasn't enough.

"I love you," Louis whispered, and he felt the colors win.

"LOUIS!!!"

"Harry." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"How are you feeling today, Harry?"

"Grey."

"You say that every week, Harry. Why do you always describe your feelings with colors?"

Harry looked up from where he was picking at his fingers and glared miserably at the man sitting across from him.

"He would understand."

"Louis?"

"Don't say his name." It wasn't a question or a request. It was a demand. The man fell silent.

"Explain to me a little bit, Harry. What do you mean by grey?"

Harry sighed, picking at the skin around his fingers again, wincing as he ripped off a large piece and blood began to flow. He stuck his finger in his mouth, and sucked, tasting the red and the silver and the black too, just a hint. He decided to try and explain.

"Everything is like that. What do you taste when you bite into an apple?"

"I guess, a sweetness. Like sugar?" The man leaned forward, obviously thrilled Harry was attempting to explain to him. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I taste green," Harry sighed. "It's like when you step outside and smell fresh grass. It's green and it's happy and it's a light white and it's forgiving and it's lovely."

"What do you feel when you think of Louis?"

Harry winced, as if the mere mention of Louis' name caused him physical pain. He wrapped his arms around himself, and cupped his rib cage in his large hands.

"Are you okay?" The man didn't really care. He just wanted this last ten minutes to be over, so he could go back to looking at porn on his computer and finish that cigarette Harry had interrupted when he walked in for their session.

"I feel grey." Harry murmured. "Ever since he's gone, it's just been grey. There's no green or blues or pinks anymore. They used to rock me to sleep every night. They used to kiss my forehead and whisper lovely things in my ear, tell me how nice I am and what a good job I'm doing. The pinks used to dance for me, they would lie down on the ground and create carpets for me to walk on. The lavenders cared, they cared so deeply about me. And about Louis too. They knew all of our favorite things. They knew the way I like milk and sugar in my tea, and the way Louis liked his black. They knew which route I used to take to work every morning, and they used to light up the way. But I think Louis took them with him and now everything is just grey. The grey doesn't care at all."

"Huh." At least the man seemed slightly interested now. He furrowed his brow and stayed silent for a minute. "Do you think you're sad because of this grey?"

"Oh no, sir, I'm not sad," Harry corrected politely. "Sadness is black. Sadness is too many feelings wrapped up in one, an excess of feeling. Black is all the colors at once and it's too much. It's so much feeling. Grey is no feeling at all. It's just empty and sad and it covers everything like a blanket and doesn't allow any other colors in. Even the black."

"And Louis? He could see these colors too?"

"He could feel them. They were inside us."

The man stared ahead, straight at the little table that sat awkwardly in between them. A mess of magazines covered the surface, with titles like "Does Your Teen Have Depression?" and "How To Get Over A Loved Ones Death." A little cactus sat on top the newspapers in a little red pot, and Harry smiled wistfully at it, longing to feel the greens and yellows running through that little plant. A box of tissues sat beside them, and Harry picked one up, blowing his nose loudly to keep the room from getting too silent and engulfing him. The man was deep in thought.

Finally, he lifted his head up and looked at Harry and Harry managed to look in his eyes and he saw some black there as well, and he felt sorry for the man and reached out his hand and placed it over the mans large ones.

"You're a really interesting kid, Harry," he said and Harry recoiled his hand quickly, as though he'd been slapped. "Can we continue this conversation next week?"

"Yes," Harry said, as if he really had choice.

"10am? Don't forget."

"See you," Harry stood up and picked his jacket up off the back of his armchair, tugging the heavy leather over his arms and loving the way the jacket weighed him down, clung to him. It seemed to hold him to this Earth, Harry was almost afraid if he took it off he would grow as light as air and float through the room and the ceiling into the misty morning air.

But instead of floating, he turned around and left the office. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Do you wanna go out tonight, Haz?"

"I'm not really feeling up to it, Ni."

Harry sighed at the crestfallen look on his best friends face, knowing each 'no' and 'maybe tomorrow' was killing Niall on the inside a little bit. He hadn't seen his friend laugh in months, and he knew it was partly his fault. It was his fault he had come to Niall's door after he got released from the hospital, and not the door of his own flat. It was his own fault he had collapsed on the ratty welcome mat crying, it was his fault he had stayed until Niall came home from work and found him, it was his fault he had allowed Niall to pick him up and carry him inside.

He had accepted the chicken soup and the blanket and the warm hugs that Niall offered. He had accepted all the love and kindness Niall had to give, because that's just how Niall was. He was a light, rosy yellow, and sometimes, when he got drunk enough, he turned into a loud bright neon color, one that ricocheted around the room and came into contact with every person in it. When Niall was there, he was impossible to ignore, he filled the room up with laughter and the light shining out from even the darkness parts inside of him. 

Harry had moved in with Niall instead of returning to his and Louis' old flat. He was too scared of everything left there turning to grey, as everything else in his world had. He didn't want to see the dark green couch drained of its color, he didn't want to see the ugly mustard-yellow carpet as any other color than the one he had begged Louis not to  buy. He didn't want to see their two tea mugs, the ones Harry had made when he went through his short-lived ceramics phase. He had made Louis' mug a light green, claiming it matched the color of his eyes, but as time passed, Harry realized he couldn't have been more wrong. Louis' eyes were the color of the sea, they changed with every day, sometimes they were a light green, sometimes they were a dark blue, and sometimes they were a murky turquoise with little flecks of gold floating inside the iris. Harry had apologized profusely to Louis and offered to make him another cup, a cup that did his eyes justice, but Louis had laughed and cradled the little mug in his even littler hands and promised Harry that he loved it.

And so Harry had let Zayn clean out their apartment, bringing over the few clothes and necessities Harry deemed acceptable. Zayn had packed up the rest of Harry's and Louis' stuff and sold it, and ended up selling their whole flat too, once Niall offered his place to Harry as a long term solution. And so that little sky blue apartment was gone, that little burn mark on the front welcome mat that Louis had caused when he drunkenly dropped his cigarette one time wouldn't even be noticed by the apartments next owners, even though Harry used to sit there and trace the burn mark with his index finger while waiting for Louis to come home from work.

"Well, you're alright if I go out then?" Niall asked after a minute, after Harry still hadn't said anything. Harry nodded, brow furrowed.

"She'll be here in about five minutes, and then we'll take off."

Harry looked at his friend and saw the little glimpse of yellow he'd been missing, and Niall grinned at him and his eyes were blue, not as blue as they were before the accident, but Harry could still see the kindness in them, and the worry too, and he was grateful that for the first time in months, he was seeing something other than grey.

"Have a great time, Ni," Harry grinned at his friend. "I know she'll love you."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"I saw blue yesterday." Harry blurted out. The man paused mid-sentence, looking at Harry with wide eyes. He seemed unsure of what to say.

"And yellow too," Harry continued, feeling the need to brag, just a little, he wasn't sure why. "Just for a moment, a split instant."

"Where were the colors?"

"My best friend Niall. They were in his eyes. He's been so unhappy because of me for so long, he's been feeling all my pain and he's been trying to carry it all himself and help me, and he was starting to turn grey as well. But I saw a flicker of blue in his eyes, and when he smiled, he smiled yellow."

"He smiled yellow." The man repeated, monotone.

Harry huffed.

"I know it doesn't make sense to you. It was our thing. We understood. The colors were here for us. You just think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy, Harry," the man said, patient as he ever was. "I think you see things differently than most people. I think you're interesting."

"I want to see more colors," Harry said, and for a second he felt bad, but then he just felt greedy. "I'm almost..... mad at him."

"Mad at him?" The man asked.

"I hate him. He just gave up and let himself get taken away and he left me here. He left me here with no color." The man didn't say anything and Harry groaned in frustration, wishing he hadn't said anything at all, because as soon as those words escaped his lips, he felt terrible. Of course he didn't hate Louis, of course he wasn't mad at him. He was just lonely and grey and Harry wasn't used to being alone. Louis had been at his side every minute since he was sixteen and before that, he had had Gemma and Anne to stay by him. Harry wasn't the type of person who could function by himself, especially not now, especially since all the blues and greens had been sucked from his life and he didn't have Louis to hold him and whisper in his ear that everything was gonna be okay. 

"He left me." Harry choked and hot, wet tears began to roll down his cheeks and he knew they would be a light green if only he could fucking see anything and he sniffled and buried his head in his hands and shut his eyes until he could see only darkness. "I called for him, I begged for him to stay, but he still left me here. He didn't even want to take me with him."

"Harry, you don't doubt that Louis loved you, do you?"

"No," he sniffled. "I just wish it was enough."

And for the first time in their months of sessions, the man reached across the table and gathered Harry into his arms and Harry collapsed against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart and the rush of blood through his veins and it was peaceful. It was almost red too, not quite but almost, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut because he was starting to worry he would see colors again and he couldn't decide which was worse; living the rest of his cold, grey life alone, or beginning to see colors and lovely things without Louis there to feel them with him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Hey mate, do you want a hamburger?" Harry heard his friend ask and opened his eyes to stare at the looming head above him.

"Is it organic?"

"Yes, you prick."

Harry sat up, and massaged the dirt with his hands, daring the grass and little flowers to jump and dance the way they used to when he was with Louis. He longed to hear them giggle and exchange jokes about his messy hair or rumpled clothing, or the way Louis looked like he hadn't showered in months, but Louis wasn't here and so they stayed silent.

"Here," Liam passed Harry a hamburger and Harry sank his teeth into it, moaning at the taste. He hadn't eaten food like this in months.

"Thanks, Lee," Harry scarfed down his burger quickly, looking apprehensive when Liam handed him another. "I don't know if I should..."

"Not eating a burger isn't going to make the grass dance, Harry," and Harry was suddenly grateful he had drunkenly spilled his thoughts to Liam that one (or two) times. He didn't try and pick apart and analyze everything Harry said, like his therapist did, and he didn't get sad and quiet and hug Harry like Niall usually did, he just went with it. Harry appreciated that, even though he knew Liam thought he was crazy.   

"Can I ask you a question?" Liam asked when Harry had finished eating, and had licked the grease off each of his fingers.

"Sure."

"What happened that day?" Liam began sadly. "The police and hospital told us it was just an accidental fire in his office building. But you were there. I know something else happened, and I just... I just want to know what it was," Liam ran his hands through his hair sadly and stared at the ground, and Harry could tell he felt bad for asking. Because Liam was all careful words and soft hugs and tiptoeing around sad topics no one wanted to talk about. He would avoid conversations and distract people until the end of his days if it meant keeping Harry happy and so that was how Harry knew he had to answer.

"He was your boyfriend, Haz, but he was also my best friend. I miss him everyday. The grass dances a little less without him around and I know it's so much different for you than it is for me, but I just want to know what happened."

Harry took Liam's hand and entwined their fingers together, hoping to to feel the red of blood and of warmth when their skin touched, but he felt nothing. They were both much too grey.

"I was mad," Harry muttered. "I got angry about nothing and he was there doing an experiment late at night and no one else was there and I got angry and threw something. The gas was on."

"Harry." Liam said simply.

"I did this, Liam. I never told anyone, I just said that I couldn't remember. But I could. I went crazy, I was so so angry. Everything was just colors and then he was gone, he just went up in smoke. I killed him, Liam."

"No, Harry," Liam pulled Harry into his lap and he curled up and they cried together miserably, both their tears falling and pooling into a little puddle, burning and sizzling and eventually the little grass underneath went up in flames. Their tears were black and Harry could see the sadness inside, he could see the way Liam had been holding it all together for him, for him and for Niall and for Zayn. He had been holding everyone together but now he was just human, sitting with Harry in a little field not far away from where Harry used to come on walks with Louis, but now he was here with Liam and everything was grey except the tears leaking down their cheeks. It was black.

"It was an accident," Liam whispered, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Harry. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Are you feeling any better, Harry?"

"I'm starting to see colors again."

"How long as it been since the accident?"

"One year and 287 days."

"What colors can you see?" The man smiled at Harry and Harry attempted a little grin back.

"Yesterday a little girl was playing on the playground. I was walking past and a saw a flash of blonde and I turned around and saw she had this beautiful hair, pretty little gold curls that bounced and moved as she walked. And the longer I looked I started to notice more. Her cheeks were flushed pink, the pink was happy and it was clinging to her little cherub cheeks and she was happy. And she would laugh in delight and her parents would laugh back and I heard purple."

"And then what, Harry?"

"I walked away because I didn't want to intrude, it was her life and her happiness and her colors and I was using them for myself."

"I don't quite agree. I think you were sharing her colors."

"Sharing... colors?" Harry asked, dumbfounded that such an notion could even exist, even though he had been sharing colors with Louis for years without realizing it.

"What other colors are you seeing?"

"My friend Liam took me fishing with him yesterday. I didn't fish of course, it makes me sad, but Liam caught a fish and pulled it out of the water and turned to show it to me and he was yellow and blue and not grey at all."

"You didn't see any grey?"

"None."

"You love Liam, don't you?"

Harry fidgeted, feeling as if he couldn't admit to this. He knew it was just a platonic love, the same way he felt for Zayn and Niall, but he felt bad admitting he loved Liam, even as a friend. Love was yellow and love was happy and sometimes love was even a light blue or a lavender, and Harry felt bad he had seen lavender without Louis.

"He's my best friend." He managed to choke out.

The man eyed him, and Harry couldn't decide what emotion was seeping from his eyes. Was he annoyed Harry still was having problems with his colors? Was he proud Harry was starting to see and hear and feel again? Was he annoyed that Harry was still there, over a year and a half later? Had he grown fond of Harry? Did he like those Saturday mornings at 10am every week, where Harry would come and describe all the colors he was or wasn't feeling? Did he consider Harry a friend? Did Harry consider him a friend?

"Thank you," Harry finally blurted out.

"Why, Harry?"

"I'm seeing colors again."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Come with me," Zayn grabbed Harry's hand and they linked fingers together, the way Harry liked. He felt brown this way, strong and secure, and Zayn knew he was happier when someone was there with him.

"I have something to show you," Harry followed Zayn up millions of steps, each one a dirty white. Harry could tell they had been bright and beautiful once, but he glanced at the bottom of Zayn's black boots and he saw dirt and he saw black and he saw paint, and he glanced back at the dirty white stairs and could tell where each track in Zayn's shoes had left a mark and he decided that they could be just as beautiful with the dirt as they could without.

"Where are we going?" Harry whined, out of breath, as little as he wanted to admit it.

"You'll see."

They climbed higher and higher, Zayn taking two steps at a time and pulling a slow Harry behind him. Harry had always been too big for his body, too long, and Louis had always roared in delight every time Harry had knocked something over, or tripped over his own feet. Zayn knew how Harry was and he kept glancing behind him to make sure Harry was okay, and Harry was. He could feel the flush in his cheeks and he could feel the pink and he knew he must look just like that little girl did and he smiled happily and felt his face flush a deep red.

They reached the top of the staircase, Harry panting and Zayn barely breaking a sweat. There was a door and it was black and Harry was scared of the sadness but Zayn was so comfortable, so at ease, that Harry allowed himself to trust this door. Zayn pulled out a gold key and Harry noticed its beauty and the way the sun reflected off its back into his eyes, and finally he had to look away when its beauty got too much. He heard Zayn slide the lock in the door and he heard the door creak open and all Harry could feel was the dark, charcoal grey of apprehension.

"Close your eyes." Harry obliged and Zayn pulled him inside. He felt a rough hand grab the hand Zayn wasn't holding and he jerked away in fear before he recognized the breathing.

"Liam," he sighed in relief.

"I'm here too, Harry." Niall's loud, yellow voice piped up and Harry could tell he was on the other side of Liam. "We're all right here."

"Ready?" Zayn said.

"Ready for what?" Harry almost laughed, sure they were all trying to prank him somehow.

"Open your eyes."

Harry opened them slowly, and gasped.

"Oh!"

They were in a large room, with a table directly in the middle covered in paper and pencils. There were cupboards lining the walls, with art supplies falling out, and Harry could tell at once that this was Zayn's secret art studio, the one he had never let anyone in before, even Louis, and they were the closest of friends. But it wasn't the impossible number of pencils Zayn seemed to own, or the scattered sketches that had made Harry gasp. It was the walls themselves.

The entire room was a mural, the four walls woven together into a bright, beautiful painting. And Harry could see all of it, every last color. Each wall had a boy drawn on it, Harry's wall was closest to the door and depicted him grinning, laughing even, not a care in the world. He was happy. Zayn had made him beautiful. All around him was pretty things, trees, animals, teacups, every lovely thing that Harry told Zayn made him happy, Zayn had painted on the walls. Harry could see millions of colors, all together, every color he could imagine. It was beautiful.

The Niall wall was yellow, and he was drawn grinning, smiling in the dopiest of ways. He was surrounded by colors, just as Harry's was, and as Harry's took in Liam's and Zayn's he was completely overwhelmed by how many colors he could see. There was even black, but it wasn't a sad black, it was a complete black, a content black. Zayn's wall was covered in graffiti, graffiti you would see in a train station or a subway and normally Harry wouldn't care too much about that type of art, but it was Zayn's and it reflected who he was as a person and it was lovely and Harry found himself getting lost in each stroke of the spray paint.

"Zayn, it's beautiful," Harry choked out, tears welling in his eyes. "I can see it. I can see the colors."

"Notice anything else, Haz?" Zayn asked, a smug look on his face.

Harry looked at each wall, each painted picture of the boys. Then he noticed. Each drawn Zayn, Liam, Niall and Harry was looking up, towards the sky. Harry took a deep breath and allowed himself to finally look at the ceiling, tears pouring down his cheeks as he saw the final piece of Zayn's artwork.

It was Louis. Of course it was Louis, he was the missing piece to every puzzle, the finishing stroke to every painting. He light up the whole room. The drawing of him was gazing fondly down at the studio below, as if he was watching the four boys contentedly. Zayn had drawn Louis inside the actual sun, as if the other boys were just four little planets revolving around him, basking in the light he showed them. Harry began to cry harder, light-green happy tears and he gripped Zayn and Liam's hand as he stared at Louis, Louis staring back at him. Zayn had painted him perfectly, his messy, disheveled hair pulled lazily over his face, his eyes that seemed to contain every color at once, his little hands and the little fingernails he used to gnaw down to stubs.

And it was then that Harry knew he was going to be okay, he knew he had these four beautiful boys and he knew he had the memory of Louis and he still had all Louis' love and all the love he had in return, and all the memories came rushing back, all the soft kisses and giggles Harry had repressed, and all the colors came back too, and Harry didn't feel bad now. He knew Louis was there and he knew Louis didn't leave him here alone, he was just waiting for Harry to discover he could feel happy all on his own. He could find a way to be complete again, and he knew nothing would ever be the same without Louis because how could it? How could Harry ever look at another cup of tea without being reminded of the way Louis used to gather his too-big mug in his too-small hands to blow on the hot liquid to cool it down? How could Harry ever look at another small dog without being reminded of the way Louis' eyes lit up every time they were walking down the street and he spotted one, how could he forget the joy in Louis' face when he rushed over to collect the little thing in his arms and rub its belly and coo softly to it?

How could Harry ever forget all those nights where their sheets engulfed them, where the night sang lullabies as Louis kissed Harry's bare chest and ran his fingers up and down Harry's arm slowly, nursing him to sleep? How could he ever forget the way Louis looked at him, like he was the night sky and all the stars keeping Louis in orbit?

Louis was the love of Harry's life and he was gone and Harry was still very much here, still breathing. But Louis wasn't really gone and Harry still had these four boys who adored every inch of him and who had loved Louis every bit as much as Harry had. And he could see color again, and he could laugh and smile and be happy. And finally, it was enough.

The four silently crying boys came together in a hug, all wet cheeks and happy eyes and the room was soggy with all the love in it. And just as Harry was about to lower his face to kiss Zayn's cheek he made out words printed in beautiful calligraphy coming out of Louis' mouth.

 

_Always in my heart, L._


End file.
